Once Upon a Christmas Eve by Christine Flynn Page A

extensive plans would involve.
    He hadn’t mentioned expanding yesterday. Apparently, this was his alternative to moving.
    Without looking from the pages, she quietly asked, “How soon would I need to do this?”
    â€œIf we enter into an agreement within the next couple of weeks, I’d push for mid-January. Realistically, renovations would take a month. You don’t want to be closed that whole time, so we could have the wall torn out in a couple of days and a temporary one erected. You could stay open here while the bulk of the work is being done on the other side.”
    She shook her head again, shoved her fingers through her hair. He had absolutely no idea how hard she was pushingherself already. She hadn’t even made it into bed last night. When she’d finally gone upstairs, she’d lain down on her comforter, folded half of it over herself and the next thing she’d known it was five o’clock in the morning. Because she hadn’t set her alarm, she’d overslept by half an hour.
    â€œHow would I pay for it?”
    â€œWe’d advance the funds as our part of the buy-in. It’s all written out in the proposal in there.”
    Max nodded toward the envelope. After encountering her resistance yesterday, he now knew that she tended to get quiet when she was digging in her heels. Considering her now, he had the feeling she was either balking big-time or struggling hard to accept what should have been a no-brainer.
    She hadn’t bothered to brush the strand of hair back again.
    Blocking the urge to do it himself, he pushed his hands into his pockets.
    â€œJust look this over when you have a chance. While you’re doing that,” he suggested, certain she was feeling proprietary, “keep in mind that this is a business decision. Not an emotional one. It’s only logical that as successful as you’ve been so far, you’ll be an even bigger success with careful expansion.”
    He didn’t believe emotion had any place in business. There was no room for sentiment. No logic in going with feelings. It seemed to Tommi that he couldn’t have made that message any clearer had he written it across the top of each of the pages stacked so neatly in front of her.
    She figured his convictions probably explained a lot about him. She just didn’t attempt to figure out what all that was as she tried to imagine where she’d find the time or the energy to essentially double the bistro in size while she’d be doubling in size herself.
    â€œI’ve never even considered expanding before. But I will,” she assured him, wishing they could have had this conversation later in the day, when she felt more like herself.
    â€œAs for emotion, it may not have a place in business for you, but it does for me.” It didn’t matter that her energy was in the bucket at the moment, she needed to defend herself even if she didn’t feel like it. He’d made himself clear. It only seemed fair that he know where she was coming from, too.
    â€œThis is my life,” she admitted, lifting her hand in an arc to encompass the space, “so this is everything I am that we’re talking about. This is who I am,” she quietly emphasized. She looked from the kitchen doorway to the muted colors of the paintings on the walls, then to the dark windows behind her. “I can’t divorce myself from what I do all that easily.”
    â€œYou’re going to have to learn how.”
    She’d followed the quick motion of her hand with her head, looked back to him just as abruptly. But feeling less than fabulous at the moment, feeling the sudden need to sit, she wasn’t about to repeat her unintended performance yesterday and go toe-to-clog with his three-piece-suit, investor-knows-best insistence.
    He wasn’t wearing a suit right now, anyway.
    And the logo on his sweat jacket seemed to be wavering.
    She felt warm. She suddenly felt awfully